


breathing out

by Setkia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ADHD, Alternate Universe - College/University, Autism, Awkwardness, Coming of Age, Depression, Developing Relationship, Everyone Copes Differently, F/F, Fluff, Further Warnings in Author Notes, I Want Good Autistic Representation, M/M, Miscommunication Because Humans Are Hard, POV Multiple, Panic Attacks, Sensory Overload, Slice of Life, Slow Build, So This is How I'm Doing It, Social Anxiety, This Is My Self-Administered Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-02-29 13:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18779692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: “So social situations make you a bit uncomfortable?”It’s more like running into oncoming traffic,he thinks.It’s like dancing on the edge of a cliff wearing a blindfold on roller skates. It’s like swallowing sand and drowning on dry land“Erm, yeah.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why did he think he could handle university?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always when beginning a new story, my first chapter note is insanely long.  
> This story deals with developmental disorders, and as someone who has a whole slew of them, I consider my portrayal of them to be accurate, however this is reflectively only of how I experience things like sensory overload and panic attacks.  
> I'm writing this for no one but me, and it's cool if it's not your cup of tea. My updates will be spastic, I have no idea where this story is going, I am assuming a LOT of pairings because I love this show a lot.  
> Each chapter will have its own trigger warnings. This is apparently my new I Like You A Latte (if anyone's read my Star Trek fic).  
> So warnings for this chapter:  
> Panic attack/sensory overload episode

One second Kageyama Tobio is sitting in class and everything is fine, and the next it’s too much.

Too much sound, too much light, too much _everything._

He wants to run. To get as far away as possible. But he can’t. He’s in class, and a lecture is happening and even if he can’t fully understand what the teacher is saying anymore because everything going on in his brain is like static, he can’t just _leave_.

He can do this. He can sit through this.

Tobio knew something like this was going to happen some time today. After all, given the way it started, how could it not? With the bus having been late, and cramped, and the speed the teacher spoke at being incomprehensible, ruining his notes for his last class, and the fact that his bento box had spilled over, so now the peas touched the rice and its uneatable, of _course_ this happens. It was only a matter of time.

He sits on the edge of his seat, hyper-aware of everything in the lecture hall, unable to process language anymore. His pencil taps insistently against his desk, his foot beats relentlessly against the linoleum. He’s too hot and too cold at the same time, and it’s _unbearable_ as everyone else continues to go on with their life as though the world isn’t ending.

When the bell finally rings, he bolts out of his seat as fast as he can, and runs to the door. He shoves people out of the way. They call at him, curse at him, but he can barely hear their cries to slow the fuck down because he _can’t_.

His heart is beating so quickly, it’s sure to burst out of his ribcage and his tunnel vision isn’t really helping him as he takes the steps two at a time, his book bag beating against his thigh when someone bumps into him and he goes flying.

There's a "sorry" that for an instant breaks through the static, but his body is on fire and drenched in ice and he just needs to _leave_ so he scrambles to get all his stuff together, when the person who bumped into him says something about “letting them get that”, and their hands touch and Tobio recoils like he’s been burnt.

He catches a faint glimpse of orange hair before he’s taking his last book and shoving it in his bag and going down the stairs at the same time, but it just won’t fit in the way he’s trying to make it, and his eyes are beginning to burn and _he is not going to cry over a goddamn book_ ,but everyone’s eyes are on him and he nearly trips when he reaches the end of the stairs but doesn’t and he’s almost out the building door when someone grabs his arm.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

The person recoils.

“I …”

Tobio doesn’t trust himself not to whimper, so he runs away, and bites his lip. Keeps his head down, and tries not to focus too much on every spot causing him pain (the weight of the bag at his hip, the discomfort in his shoulder, the awkward lump because of the disorganized way his things have been shoved into the bag, the insistent and painful way it beats against his thigh) and he doesn’t stop until he’s at his apartment.

He fights to jam his key into the lock despite his trembling hands, and when it finally gives way, he slams the door shut with more force than necessary. He strips off his jacket, his sweatshirt, and his socks which unrolled in his shoes in his haste. He locks the door and thinks about whether he can shed his skin, but then just slams his head against the closed door.

_Breathe. You’re okay._

Slapping himself across the face a few times, he tries to calm down.

It doesn’t work, so he screams like his lungs are on fire. All it does is unleash the screams he wanted to have while on the bus, and now they’re long overdue and have no real impact.

Crumbling to the floor, he tucks his knees closer to himself, feeling dirty as his bangs fall against his forehead.

This is stupid.

He’s stupid.

Why did he think he could handle university?

He’s not even a month in and it’s the third time it’s happened.

Kageyama Tobio is not meant for society.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m fine,” he repeats. If he says it enough times, surely it’ll come true.

The next day, everyone is staring at him.

Well, probably not, but it feels like they are. Like millions of eyes are attached to his back, and watching his every move. Like those around him can see each unsteady breath, each rise and fall of his chest, and are judging him for it. Like he’s done something wrong, and no one will tell him what it is.

 _Not everything’s about you_ , he remembers his mother saying. Her words are not unkind, they are a reminder that he can breathe.

But he tenses up at the slightest sign of orange hair, and saying there’s an elephant on his chest is putting it mildly.

He was an _asshole_ yesterday. More than usual.

It’s once he’s finally talked himself down from his crazy paranoid state that someone taps him on the shoulder. He practically jumps out of his skin and slams his body against a nearby locker.

“Erm, sorry about that.”

It’s _him_.

He should apologize. That’s what Mother taught him to do. Though, he’s not sure if he can get his mouth to cooperate with the rest of his body long enough to actually manage it, but it’s worth a shot.

Tobio opens his mouth—

And nothing comes out.

“Listen, about yesterday, I just wanted to let you know—”

“I’m fine.”

The boy takes a step back from his volume.

_That was loud, wasn’t it?_

“I mean, I’m fine,” he repeats in what may be a whisper. If he says it enough times, surely it’ll come true.

“Right,” says the orange haired boy, like he’s having a hard time believing him. Tobio has always been a shit liar. “Anyway, I just wanted to check on you. You good?”

Is he good? He’s never thought of it that way.

“Oh, I’m not a total stranger, by the way. I’m in your sociology class. I don’t know if you noticed. But erm … yeah. Hi. I’m Hinata Shōyō.” He holds out his hand and Tobio panics.

_It’ll just be two seconds. Five, at worst._

But he can’t make himself move, and judging by the way the orange haired boy’s face falls, it shows.

“Never mind then. Uh, you’re Kageyama, right?”

 _You noticed?_ Because compared to Hinata Shōyō, who has flaming hair and large, wide brown eyes, Tobio’s plain, flat hair that occasionally falls in his face is nothing to write home about.

“Yes,” he says, his jaw a little tight. “Kageyama Tobio.”

“Right.”

He’s feeling increasingly awkward, and doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he fidgets and presses his back against the locker.

“I guess I’ll get going,” says Hinata. He nods at Tobio awkwardly, makes an odd salute, and then runs down the hallway like his pants are on fire.

Once again Tobio has fucked up a simple conversation.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Brain … why? Why do you do this?_

The next time he has sociology, he’s not looking for orange hair (except he totally is).

Tobio can’t believe he missed him. He’s practically falling out of his chair, tapping his pen against his desk, and humming some tune that he can’t quite recall, and the next thing he knows he’s thinking of maybe sitting next to him.

But they don’t have a relationship with each other. No real connection other than a mortifying incident that he wishes deeply to forget. So he takes his usual seat at the front of the class, and hunches over his notes and writes in pencil because pen makes him anxious.

When they’re dismissed, he stands up straight and arranges his books in a particular way. He has to stack them in a certain way, just so, but when he looks behind him he sees the orange haired boy and his heart starts beating way too fast.

The boy, Hinata, is probably just going to walk past him. Go to the door, like everyone else.

But Tobio has never had a relationship with any of the people in his class, he’s been a head in a headcount, but from what he imagines, people who know each other have to acknowledge each other and his throat closes up at the thought.

What if this is the beginning of a confrontation?

He’s nearly a whole foot taller than the boy, but common sense never really clicks in his brain. Not when he gets like this.

He begins to rush, and then the carefully stacked books topple over and it’s going to take him even _longer_ to get out, which is _fine, totally fine, he’s okay, breathing is a thing that exists and its an exercise he should take part in and_ —

“Need help?”

_Shit._

“No.”

He can console himself in that he didn’t yell it this time.

Hinata is leaning over the desk behind him, practically lying on it, with his stomach as support. He looks like he’s trying to be Superman on a green screen block that they’ll erase in post.

_Brain … why? Why do you do this?_

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Hinata pouts. “Just trying to be useful.”

Tobio’s sure he means well. Everyone tends to mean well. Until they don’t. But he’s too high-strung to think properly, and he’s pretty sure if he had just acted _normal_ this whole interaction would’ve never happened.

He gets his stuff and leaves, trying to figure out how he can have so much pride and yet so little at the same time.

If Hinata Shōyō tries to force another interaction with him in the next century, it’ll be too soon.


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being approached in a room is like having a gun pointed at him. Approaching someone in a room feels like diving blind folded into a three foot deep pool.

“Can I sit here?”

Hinata Shōyō is standing near him, holding a tray in hand.

_Run._

It’s like he’s stalking him, or he’s being _haunted_. He didn’t notice the kid before, and now he’s _everywhere_ and Tobio is having to make an active effort to avoid running into him. Not because he inherently hates him or anything, but he feels stupidest when interactions are forced upon him.

Being approached in a room is like having a gun pointed at him. Approaching someone in a room feels like diving blind folded into a three foot deep pool. He’s accepted (more or less) that he is not meant for a life of friends and normal human interaction. He’s made peace with that.

So why doesn’t Hinata get the memo?

He’s alone at his table, which makes everything worse. He’s been _singled out,_ in a reverse “last-person-to-be-chosen-for-a-team” way. Somehow it feels even more humiliating.

Picking up his tray, he’s about to get up when—

“I meant with you!”

The two of them take a step back by the sudden cry.

“Erm, sorry. I just meant … can I sit with you?”

“You want to?”

The orange haired boy tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Tobio has a very long answer he could give, but then he remembers the boy isn’t his mother, and not every question is one that’s meant to be answered. He fidgets with his napkin, and shrugs. “You can sit.”

“Thanks!”

Tobio flinches at the force the tray hits the table. The bright smile doesn’t leave Hinata’s face.

“Are you avoiding me?”

Kageyama may choke on his milk. Maybe. Definitely.

He shakes his head.

He’s never actively avoided others. Has he? Days blur together in his memory. All he can remember is stepping forward, and having others step back. Eventually, he stayed in the shadows. He’s made a nice nest for himself in the corner of rooms, unnoticed by most, or a blurry something in another’s periphery. He doesn’t know what to do with centre stage like this.

“Really? Cause I _feel_ like you are.”

“Just because I spoke to you once, I have to be friendly with you?”

There’s a beat.

 _Rewind!_ his mind urges. _REWIND!_

“That wasn’t what I meant to say—”

“Sorry to have assumed—”

Hinata lets out a light chuckle. “Er, do you want to go first?”

Tobio shakes his head. He’s not sure what he meant to say, only that it wasn’t that. It was a thought. A thought that should’ve remained a thought, but as usual, his filter is disastrously broken and he can’t afford a mechanic.

“Right, okay. Erm, I’m sorry for making an assumption. You know what they say about assuming. Makes an ass out of me and you.”

Tobio’s confused.

_Assuming? A-S-S-U-M-I-N-G. Wait. That’s wrong. Assume. A-S-S-U-M-E. Ass-u-me._

“Right.”

“Yeah, so. You don’t have to … like, be nice to me just because we spoke to each other a bit. I’m just … I’m new in the area? And I have … well, I have a little trouble making friends. Sometimes. Mostly because I’m too loud. Or eager. Or er …”

“Desperate?”

Hinata frowns. “You didn’t have to put it like that.”

“I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t mean to.” Tobio hates his life. “I’m … I don’t do … I don’t do well with people either.”

_Understatement of the century._

“I feel like we screwed this up somehow. Can I just … start over?” Hinata asks, looking at Tobio through a puff of orange hair that’s long and nearly falls into his eyes. It’s not quite bangs, reminds him of a forward cowlick, if that’s a thing, a sweeping of hair that’s fallen down in a swoop-y way, kind of like a fringe, but not quite—

_Oh. He was asking a question._

“Erm, sure.”

“Great.”

He smiles, and the air closes in around him in his chest and he doesn’t know why, but it’s not the worst thing ever, for once.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on my [Tumblr](https://setkia.tumblr.com)!  
> Or e-mail me setkia.writer@gmail.com!  
> I love talking to readers, seriously! Aside from time differences causing a delay, I'll always reply!


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